


It's Always the Dead Who Harbor the Most Grudges

by can_u_count_bees



Series: Revival of the Vengeful [1]
Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "i was horrible in my past life, AO3 Tags - Freeform, Adopted Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Wilbur Soot, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assisted Suicide, Attempted Murder, Author is a Toby Smith | Tubbo Apologist, Background Relationships, But like adopted, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Creeper Hybrid Sam | Awesamdude, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enderman-Ghast Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Eventual Fluff, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Reunions, Fix-It of Sorts, Floris | Fundy Has Abandonment Issues, Floris | Fundy Needs A Hug, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insane Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt is Toby Smith | Tubbo's Parent, Jschlatt-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Lots of healing, Moobloom Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Morally Ambiguous Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Murder, No Romance, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Older Sibling Sam | Awesamdude, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Cara | CaptainPuffy, Parent Sam | Awesamdude, Parental Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Past Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Past Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Soulmates Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Please Don't Kill Me, Protective Cara | CaptainPuffy, Protective Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Sam | Awesamdude, Protective Siblings, Protective Wilbur Soot, Ram Hyrbid Jschlatt, Reconciliation, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Sam Nook - Freeform, Sheep Hybrid Cara | CaptainPuffy, Tags May Change, The Prison, Therapist Cara | CaptainPuffy, Toby Smith | Tubbo Deserves Better, Toby Smith | Tubbo is Not Okay, Trauma, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tubbo, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, awesamdad, both are quite off the rocker in this installment of, but he adopted ranboo anyways, but they are working through them, but they aren't important, eventually, im suffering too if its any consolation, im telling you they are not happy, no beta we die like tommy with lightning, not finished, not really im just causing mayhem, phil was not a great dad, please read tw warnings, resurrected jschlatt, schlatt is also trying his best, so lets cause trouble to make up for it!", thats gross, the trust issues are strong in this one, they are best friend your honor, they feel bad, wilbur is trying his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/can_u_count_bees/pseuds/can_u_count_bees
Summary: When Wilbur and Schlatt are resurrected on the DreamSMP, most are happy to have the charming ex-President back; less are enthused about the drunk tyrant coming in tow.The same can't be said for Wilbur, who's been biding his time in the afterlife.Watching.Seething.Raging.His symphony may have finished, but there's an encore calling his name.And it's permeated with a bloody vengeance.///Schlatt thought he didn't care about his traitorous Secretary.Afterlife changes perspectives.Watching a teenager try to run a country AND handle the peer pressure of his former, power-hungry Vice President? Exile his best friend under orders of a puppeteer? Watch and hear said puppeteer proudly say they would murder him in cold blood, just so the 'life' of the server stayed in their control? Accepting his fate without question, without argument?Maybe Schlatt wasn't so heartless;Because his chest burned hotter than any whiskey or cigarette ever made him feel.He burned with ungodly fury.///(TDLR; c!Wilbur and c!Schlatt are gonna riot for everything Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy were put through, along with some family therapy cause they need it)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Cara | CaptainPuffy & Sam | Awesamdude, Cara | CaptainPuffy & Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & Floris | Fundy, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Floris | Fundy & Ranboo, Floris | Fundy & Sam | Awesamdude, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Minor or Background Relationship(s), No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Sam | Awesamdude & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Revival of the Vengeful [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174181
Comments: 54
Kudos: 571





	1. It's A New Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT A SHIP BOOK, TURN BACK IF THATS WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING FOR. DON'T SHIP THE CCs, ESPECIALLY MINORS. HELLA WEIRD. ALSO THESE ARE THE CHARACTERS OF THE SMP, NOT THE CCs.  
> (there are mentioned canonical relationships, but they are not the focal point of this book)  
> if on the rare, miniscule chance you're a mcyt reading this: no you're not.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also this is obviously canon divergence, but this takes place after the Nuke Testing and Tommy's Hotel has been built, and will be following my storyline i've made for this fic. that means if something canonical takes place anytime after what had been said above, it more than likely won't be affecting this fanfic. hence why its canon divergence lmao.  
> TW for: implied and attempted suicide, suicide, talking about abuse, alcoholism, death, and extreme daddy issues.  
> have fun
> 
> edit 3/1/21: complete edit dump, not rewritten but very much better written

Wilbur thought he understood helplessness. 

What it felt like to be invisible, unheard and discarded to the side for something better than he was. 

He wasn’t enough; not for his father, no, Phil was always too busy with Techno’s training or taking care of Tommy and Tubbo to pay attention to Wilbur. Not that Phil did much of the latter, leaving the two young children in the care of a teenager to venture out into the world with his favorite piglin son in tow. Wilbur was left to raise Tommy and Tubbo on his own for the most part, and he didn’t get so much as a ‘thanks’ in return. Just a blithe pat on the back and then they were gone again, like they hadn’t just been gone for months. 

His resentment for his neglectful father and envy for his impassive brother only grew with the years, and Wilbur vowed to show them that he could be great too. That he wasn’t just a nanny or an easy-going musician, because he knew he was so much more than that. Tommy and Tubbo knew too. So when the trio set out on their own, they had bright eyes full of big ideas for the future. 

Philza and Techno wished them well and told them to write; even though they would be too busy to respond. 

Of course, middle-child syndrome was nothing compared to what he felt when his country, the country _he_ founded and ran and loved, the country _he_ had fought tooth and nail for, the country that fathered _his_ son, was ripped from _his_ hands. It only stung worse when it was his long-lost and horned friend who did it, now blinded by a power euphoria and poisoned by the liquor he consumed non-stop. What really dug into his skin, though, was the fact that his citizens even considered voting for either Schlatt or S.W.A.G 2020; as if Wilbur hadn’t done everything for them, like he wasn’t the best president they could ask for. Yet again, he was the second choice, a simple afterthought to be forgotten. A measly footnote in history. 

Exiled, betrayed, and watching his creation, his so-called _symphony_ , be destroyed by the people he thought he trusted. If Tommy wasn’t there, Wilbur was alone. He was so small in the dusty and dim ravine of PogTopia. The once bright fire of a man who charmed the hearts of everyone he met and had a warm personality that made even the most irritable people mellow down was washed away, and in its wake came back the quietly jealous child. The child who craved the approval of anyone who would offer it, the child who wanted nothing more than to make an impact, make some sort of noise that would make his father look to him and finally _see_ him. 

That was what drove him to insanity. Within the confined walls of PogTopia, Wilbur went mad with selfish longing. He yearned for his country, for his power and control he had never had in his life before, his title as ‘President,’ for the cheers of his citizens when he’d give a speech and the eager to listen Tommy and Tubbo when he’d talk, looking up to him like he was some sort of divine being. He wanted the father, the one who didn’t even come to see his own son’s election or lift a wing to help in the war. 

But no. Instead, he just sent Techno, an anarchist, to help in a government coup d’état so the old government could rise to power again even after being beat out by a democratic election - because he was too busy with work. Wilbur wanted that father to tell him he was proud of him. He _needed_ his attention. 

If that involved a little TNT, then that’s how Wilbur would get his undivided attention for once in his life.

He lost sight of who really mattered as time slowly crawled to his fate:

He stopped seeing Tubbo as his friend and brother-in-arms; instead, he was a traitor double-agent, and Techno publicly executing the sixteen-year old while Wilbur and Tommy watched was fine because of this. He was certain it was Tubbo who had taken his button to ignite the TNT, or else the festival would have gone _perfectly_.

Fundy was no longer his son; he gave up that privilege when he sided with Schlatt. Even when he came crawling back to him, Wilbur despised him. He had been corrupted by Schlatt and was inherently a traitor; just like Eret, just like Tubbo, just like the double-crossing, good-for-nothing Quackity.

Wilbur was rather surprised when Quackity had admitted to wanting to join PogTopia, but when Wilbur saw that dark glimmer in his eyes, the same shimmer that Schlatt had when he waved around his power and exiled Tommy and Wilbur without a second thought, he knew Quackity was only joining for his own gain.

Techno was just a weapon to Wilbur. Someone he could utilize and use to make sure that, no matter what, Phil would show up to finally see what his son had done, what he created, and what he would destroy because he had failed in every way. He had failed as a leader, as a father, and as a son. It had to go, it needed to be cleansed of the corruption that Manberg sowed into its soil. Besides, if Wilbur thought anything more of Techno, it would bring him too many reminders of how inferior he was compared to the piglin abomination.

Tommy. Even until the very end, Wilbur was so sure, so _convinced_ that his right-hand man, his little brother who had looked up to him since he was born, would stay loyal. He had even, for a short time, convinced Wilbur that they didn’t need TNT to take back L’Manberg, that they could heal it together and restore it back to the glory it once possessed. It was Tommy who was able to bring him back from the edge of truly losing his remaining sanity. Sure, Wilbur was still pretty out of his mind, but Tommy provided him with solid ground to remind him that he was fighting for something: for his country, for praise, for _recognition_ . He was also fighting for a home for Tommy, a place his brother could also feel appreciated for, a place he could feel proud of. Coupled with the fact that Wilbur knew he couldn’t be president again due to his unstable and fragile state of mind, he was effectively fighting for Tommy to take his place. He had said once out of anger that Tommy would never be president, and after the wave of guilt that washed over him sent him spiraling only further into his growing depression, he began making the plans and preparing Tommy for presidency if they… No, _when_ they won the war.

It all crumbled underneath him when Tommy rejected the presidency. 

Everything Wilbur put aside for his younger brother had amounted to nothing. The words of advice, the recounts of events Wilbur dealt with during presidency, the gentle guidance towards leadership, everything was for nothing. 

Wilbur was now truly alone. His family betrayed him. His friends betrayed him. Everyone around him had betrayed him in some way. The destructive mindset he thought had disappeared over the last few days leading up to the final battle came back in full-force, and Wilbur now only saw his perfect, ideal end. With nothing left for him to cling to, he could do what he wanted to do in the first place:

_Make an impact, make a lot of noise._

He first gave the presidency to Tubbo. He listened to the teen speak, then excused himself. As he left, he knew the joyful celebration wouldn’t last long, not while Techno was there. He could tell his older brother was disgusted with the amount of politics on display, and it wouldn’t be long until he stirred up a storm. Which was perfect for Wilbur, who knew Phil would be on his way to either side with Techno or convince him to leave his brother’s country alone. His father seemed to always have a sixth sense with Techno, like he could smell the anarchist ideology becoming too much for the piglin and knew it would only spill blood, which is one of Techno’s favorite things (besides punting orphans). Wilbur didn’t care who would be the unlucky individual to face that fate anymore; they were all traitors anyways, and had it coming. It was a constant whisper in his ear, only egging him on as he approached the control room with an unnerving calm. 

He knew he was right when he heard the sound of fireworks, and the anguished and bewildered cries of his ‘friends’ from far off.

He reached the chamber, now scrawled with the L’Manberg anthem and so many buttons, all self-vandalized one night when he had really gone off the deep end, drowning his sorrow and shame that he could never shake away with alcohol (for those dark hours in the night, he could almost understand why Schlatt was so dependent on the bottle). Even when he pushed it down as deep as he could and tried to let his insanity cloud it, it still refused to disappear. None of his feelings ever did; everything within Wilbur felt unresolved, unaddressed. Not that talking could do much now, however. He gracefully fell off the edge of the remaining sanity he possessed and embraced the irrational and trigger-happy version of himself that had been begging to be released for _months_. 

He didn’t need to think about which button was correct because he had memorized where it was after coming to this very spot so many times. When he began to hear voices in his head, some saying to push it and others pleading with him to not, he spoke to himself aloud. He ranted. He yelled. He screamed. He kicked and punched the cold stone walls, his knuckles splitting open and bleeding red as angry tears pricked the corners of his eyes. 

It was childish, like a toddler throwing a tantrum, but Wilbur didn’t care. He had the right to be this angry. He deserved to be allowed to destroy what was originally his creation. L’Manberg was gone, and trying to resurrect it was a mistake. It would only crumble again. If Wilbur couldn’t have it, if he couldn’t be president, and if his people, _his own fucking family_ , couldn’t appreciate him, well… 

No one deserved to have either of them around. 

His hand was so close to the button. A mere second and everything would go up in smoke. No more L’Manberg, no more voices chanting at him to detonate it, no more betrayal or back-stabbing. It would all be over. Wilbur could finally find release, regain the control he had long lost even for just a moment. He could relish in the feeling, and see how everyone else liked it when they were the ones who got to feel the heavy and helpless feeling of being stabbed in the back.

_“What are you doing?”_

**_Finally._ **

He was _seeing_ Wilbur.

As much as Wilbur had thought about what he would say to Phil and how he would say it, he didn’t expect for it to be sheepish and soft-spoken. Like a child who knew they were in trouble, and they were about to be scolded. Phil only matched him in tone, though with more worry and stability than Wilbur’s shaky inflection. 

Phil tried to subtly tell Wilbur not to press it, as he could probably tell by his son’s dark eye bags and messy hair, by his dirty trench coat and mangled beanie, that telling him directly would only do more harm than good. It was all in vain, though. It didn’t matter how much Phil pleaded, how much he told Wilbur that he was worried about him and Tommy and Tubbo, how much he and Techno missed them, how he would wish they’d come back home for a while. At this point, Wilbur didn’t care if Phil told him he was proud or not. It didn’t matter in the past, Wilbur wasn’t important enough then, why would he matter now? Especially to Philza, the Angel of Death? What good does empty praise from a god who only ever truly cared about one son do for another who’s tired of vying for the scraps?

And for a moment, Wilbur remembered an old ~~friend~~ traitor. He remembered a room similar to this one. He remembered the very thing that traitor said before he pressed a button of his own, and Wilbur would have laughed at how history never fails to repeat itself if he hadn’t been preoccupied with making sure his father stared right into Wilbur’s tearful eyes while the hissing sounds of gunpowder kissing the sparks of redstone filled the cavern. 

**“It was never meant to be.”**

Wilbur raised his hand to his forehead in a salute, the intoxicating, euphoric sounds of TNT behind him and the shocked gasp from Phil as his father watched the wall break open and the land outside become a crater of what once was L’Manberg. Wilbur kept his back towards it, only needing the soothing sounds of explosions and the taste and smell of gunpowder, smoke, and sulfur filling his senses to reassure him that he had completed his mission. He felt light, and he choked back a joyful sob when he turned to see the damage.

Far off, he could see and hear the very mixed reactions of everyone, but they weren’t Phil. Wilbur looked at his father, who was astonished by the destruction that was laid out in front of him. In horrified amazement, Phil had seen that his second eldest had been able to reduce a once beautiful country to nothing but rubble in a crater with a press of a button. His second eldest, who he thought was just an aloof, artsy fool, had just blown up an entire country with a blissful smile and shaky sigh of _relief_. 

With tears of bittersweet and crazed delight streaming down his face, Wilbur gestured animatedly to the world outside the now exposed cavern. He felt like how he felt when they had won Independence from Dream and his goons. How warm that late summer sun felt as Wilbur hugged his son tightly, as he gave Tommy and Tubbo their official titles as Vice President and Treasurer of State, as they all screamed for Dream to suck it and go back home. 

It was a happy moment he was content to remember.

**“MY L’MANBERG, PHIL-!”**

It was a lovely memory.

**“MY UNFINISHED SYMPHONY, FOREVER UNFINISHED!”**

Wilbur was content dying with this memory in his mind.

**“Phil, Phil kill me!”**

Wilbur thrust his sword into his father’s shaking hands, opening himself up for death’s wonderful embrace.

_“I-...YOU’RE MY SON!”_

It was like she was calling to him. Death, that was. She and Wilbur tended to always brush against each other, teasing the idea of finally taking each other by the hand to waltz into the great unknown that was whatever came after death. This time, however, Wilbur wasn’t shy and met the eyes of his fate directly, eyes he had avoided with cowardice because he hadn’t yet understood the true allure that she had to offer: and that allure was the rhapsodic feeling of nothingness. No more melancholy. No more envy or resentment or longing, starved for the affection he’d never receive. No more anything as he eagerly awaited his long-overdue date with Death. He could match her in stride and steps and tempo, no matter how painlessly fast or agonizingly slow she decided to take him.

_He was ready to waltz._

When it was obvious Phil refused to move, too dumbfounded by everything going on around him and by Wilbur’s request, Wilbur made it easy for him.

What Wilbur may have lacked in strength, he was proficient in swiftness. For example, he quickly pointed the sword’s tip downwards in Phil’s hands and threw himself into it, the blade cleanly sliding through his chest and out of his back. Warm blood quickly stained his coat and Phil’s face twisted in grief, his grip on the sword loosening.

Wilbur slumped down onto the cold stone, facing to look at the destruction of L’Manberg. His home. Phil pulled the sword out of Wilbur’s chest hastily, but he could barely feel it. Tears freely streamed down Wilbur’s face as blood pooled around him, blood that tasted sweet in his mouth.

Phil dropped down beside him, trying to get Will to roll over to no avail, the rising panic in his father's voice dying out as his senses began to fade to black. He could faintly see Tommy holding an unconscious Tubbo, his brother letting out a wail of dismay. He could see his own son nearby, ears pressed down and agony etched all across his face. Others watched on in similar horror. Even Techno had stopped his anarchy to watch as Wilbur bled out by his father’s hand, even if he had a little bit of help from Wilbur himself.

He felt Phil pull Wilbur into his lap, hugging him and begging for him to not leave.

Wilbur was going to be late for his dance. It was rude to keep a lady waiting. The sun felt so warm on his cold skin as Death gave a polite curtsey, and Wilbur took her hand gently as his heart stalled and his chest stopped rising. His eyes remained open, even in death still mesmerized by the beauty of his creation. 

The unfinished symphony accompanied the waltz of Death, the tempo always repeating itself like a broken music disc.

~~**//////** ~~

Schlatt knew he was a villain. 

He was an abusive alcoholic. He was a horrible person in general, but the abusive alcoholic part was the main reason why he said that. He treated people who actually cared about him like shit, and he acknowledges that. He was an addict who never sought help even when it was offered to him. He publicly executed his own secretary of state, beat his husband in drunken stupors, called his archbishop a furry on multiple occasions. He drank instead of doing president work, forcing his workload onto Quackity or Tubbo usually, and would verbally berate anyone in his cabinet for the smallest of annoyances. His ideologies were methodically and insidiously capitalistic, valuing property and money over the well-being of people and the country. He didn’t care, he did whatever he wanted. He was influential. He was powerful. He was actively making Manberg a profitable business, and if someone was hurt in his endeavors to further the expansion of his company? That wasn’t his problem. 

He embraced his villainy. He played his role. He died and the heroes were victorious. Simple as that. His whole death speech was just the drunken ramblings of a man who knew he was at his end, and that before he went he might as well give one last monologue for the road. He never expected his predictions to come true.

In his best and clearest memories, he remembered playful banter between himself and Quackity, the awkward advice to Tubbo about how to be more confident and assertive, because he hated how the kid was so nervous and unsure of himself even when it wasn’t Schlatt he was talking to. The weird conversations between Fundy and himself about the most random things, but he was still calling him a furry, even when he was sober. 

Still, those memories were few and far between. Most of his memories were blackouts, yelling, drinking, and more blackouts. 

Schlatt considered himself to be heartless. It was ironic when he died of a heart attack, but Schlatt only took that as confirmation that he had, in fact, a bad heart. He wasn’t good. He didn’t have remorse for what he said to others, didn’t care about what he did or if it harmed people in the process. His morality was definitely questionable. His actions were downright criminal.

So when he arrived in the Afterlife with no alcohol, a supreme lack of hellfire, and wearing his tattered suit jacket and tie, he was, to say the least, rather surprised. The Afterlife was pretty boring, just a white void with not much to do, though it was a step-up from where he thought he would be going.

But to put a damper on this pleasant surprise, Schlatt went through withdrawal. You’d think that death would get rid of any disease or sickness you might’ve faced in life, but Schlatt would beg to differ, as he writhed in pain and sweated bullets. He couldn’t count how many times he thought that he was going to die again, vomiting until he was dry heaving and blacking out only to wake up with foamy spit oozing down from his mouth, undoubtedly from a seizure he must’ve had. Sometimes he thought his head was splitting open, that he was growing a new set of horns, and it hurt so bad that he would scream until his voice was raw and scratchy. Maybe this was hell for Schlatt. Just constant withdrawal, forever and ever. 

It didn’t last forever, though. Eventually, Schlatt felt better. The migraines calmed to foggy headaches, the seizures and vomiting stopped, and his pain ebbed off into a dull ache that permeated his entire body and made him feel sluggish; definitely preferable to the unbearable state he had been in for so long. If there was still any sort of time in this purgatory, he would’ve guessed that he had been suffering for weeks. However, there was no telling how time passed here. It could be barely a minute past his demise in the Overworld, or centuries could’ve passed, leaving him long forgotten to the testaments of time.

And so he hung out in the Afterlife, bored but fine with what he was graciously and undeservedly given, seeing as who he was in life. 

What he didn’t expect was a certain tall British man to find him there. 

Schlatt had been staring off into the vast, neverending expanse of the Afterlife and remembering the memories he could remember, as that’s pretty much the only thing you could do here. You never got hungry, thirsty, or had to use the bathroom. You never got tired, so sleep wasn’t necessary. You didn’t even need to breathe, which was oddly nice to not move while you wallowed in your own boredom. But Schlatt was brought out of it by someone calling out to him. He first brushed it off as him starting to go crazy, but when he started to put a face to the familiar accented tone, he wanted nothing more than to die once again. 

He turned to look at the voice coming from behind him, only to be suddenly enveloped in a hug by the sickly-looking Brit. The sudden contact startled Schlatt as he tried to wriggle from the man’s grip, but his arms were ironclad and, eventually, Schlatt gave up resisting, resigning himself to the hug until the Brit was done.

Although they may have died enemies, there was a time before the election, before politics and the hunger for power blinded Schlatt and he fell victim to his alcoholism, that they were what could be called ‘friends.’ Back then, Schlatt still was rather questionable in his morality, but he was more carefree and humorous than the ram-hybrid that died in that van. He and Wilbur actually got on pretty well, having met while Wilbur was still traveling and seeking a place to call home with his younger brother and Tubbo, his brother’s friend - he found it peculiar that the moobloom-hybrid wasn’t considered a brother in Wilbur’s eyes, seeing as all of them were adopted by the Angel of Death, but never questioned him directly because it wasn’t his place to ask - and even invited Schlatt to join the country he founded after the War for Independence was over. Schlatt declined, already occupied with a growing business he was co-operating with Connor, a business affiliate he met many years before Wilbur. 

However, when his business began to collapse, when he started to accumulate massive amounts of debts and unpaid loans, when Connor parted ways with him after a very heated and hurtful argument, when he was at his lowest low with only a bottle of whiskey or tequila to comfort him: a man in a green hoodie and smiley-face mask showed up at his doorstep with an offer.

He told Schlatt of an election that was being held in the SMP he had been ousted from after a few shenanigans he pulled there, which also effectively cut off his communication with Wilbur. He never heard from him, and Schlatt assumed the president had forgotten about him. The election was rumored to be rigged, and this masked man, Dream he called himself, asked Schlatt if he wanted to have another chance at power. But instead of being a CEO, he’d be a ruler. An _emperor_. 

Schlatt felt the phantom feeling of all the power he'd lost in his business being regained in that sort of position of leadership. The additional excess of control sent him into the hungry fantasies of a broken, pathetically spiteful man with nothing to lose and no one left to care about his actions. After all, Connor was gone, Wilbur forgot about him, his company was dying; Schlatt was left to fend for himself. It was more than enough to convince an embittered Schlatt to run, setting his sights for the top of the food chain. And when Schlatt dedicated himself to a goal, it was rare that he ever failed to get there. He was ruthless and persistent, and now with severed bonds, he could reach the full potential of his ambitiousness no matter how rotten and malevolent it became. This here was the point of his drastic devolution from a morally ambiguous but respectable businessman to a cruel, tyrannical drunk, hated by the ones who brought him to that position to control everything. 

But they brought that upon themselves. It wasn’t Schlatt’s fault that they voted one too many times for S.W.A.G 2020 and his own campaign. It wasn’t his problem when the two rivals combined their votes and beat out P.O.G 2020 by an incrementally small percentage, because if they really didn’t want anyone else to win they would’ve voted for Wilbur and his L’Manberg and it would’ve been settled. Just to rub salt into the wound with how dismally screwed over the citizens had made themselves, he exiled the ex-president and his little brother, showing how that was just the _start_ of Schlatt’s reign. He would ride that power-trip until he crashed and burned; whether or not L’Manberg came down with him didn’t matter. 

**This is precisely why you don’t vote for the joke candidate.**

In a brief moment of clarity, though, as he stood upon the stage in front of the citizens of the newly-named Manberg, as Wilbur stared up at him with bitterness and Tommy with perplexed ire, he caught sight of Tubbo, L’Manberg’s now ex-treasurer. He looked so confused, frightened even. The moobloom-hybrid briefly reminded him of himself when he was younger, before he became a cut-throat businessman with a distorted sense of humor. His friends weren’t even paying any mind to him, instead looking at each other and whispering frantically as they tried to figure out what was going on. He wasn’t privy to their conversation even though he too had just lost his job. When Schlatt had interactions with the whole trio, usually brief, he always noticed how the moobloom was usually left out of the conversation if Wilbur was talking to Tommy or vice versa. He was invisible to them, a side-character to their story arcs. A push-over. Maybe it was time the kid got a chance to be his own character. 

That’s when he made the spur-of-the-moment decision and declared Tubbo as his secretary of state. No longer was he going to play a supporting role, he was being thrust into the spotlight.

The clarity faded, and he went back to being corrupt and antagonistic. Tubbo never again reminded him of himself, and he forgot about the thoughtful moment when he took pity on the teen and gave him a place to start being his own person instead of a side-kick. 

Still, in the few good memories he had of the teen, he was smarter than most gave him credit for. Maybe even smarter than Schlatt at times. He wasn’t a very good liar, so it wasn’t too hard to eventually realize that he was a spy, but he was clever and sneaky enough to hide it for so long without Schlatt growing suspicious. It was _respectable_ , but foolish to cross a man as callous and far gone as Schlatt. He had no remorse for the traitor when he ordered his execution. Not even a moment of clarity that maybe, just maybe, this was crossing a few lines. It’s just another reason why Schlatt was adamant that he didn’t have the capacity to care. He never stopped to think about how liqueur and the tunnel-vision powered by greed and growth and control may have sedated his empathy and regard for others.

Now that he had none of that to hide behind and drown himself in, maybe sobriety could introduce him to human emotions once again. And his first reintroduction was Wilbur, who was like a slap in the face to Schlatt’s entire system.

Once Wilbur released him, Schlatt took a couple steps back and fixed his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles created by the tight squeeze he was just trapped in. He looked up to face his former enemy to tell him off for ruining his suit he had spent hours fixing after his withdrawal phase. What stopped him was the dried scarlet that covered Wilbur’s trench coat and shirt beneath. He smelled like ash and lit gunpowder, and if his tattered, singed attire was anything to go by, something went _boom_. It raised an uncharacteristic worry within the ram-hybrid, the first clear and sober feeling he’d felt in a very, very long time. 

_“What the fuck did you do, you goddamn pyromaniac?”_

A content look rested on Wilbur’s face, and now that Schlatt wasn't preoccupied with being intoxicated and bitter, he could see the sickly features of his friend from once upon a time. His dirt-colored hair was matted and unkempt, strands fraying every which way even beneath the old, faded beanie that concealed the rest of it. His eyes were no longer the chocolate brown ablaze with ideas and a charming glint, instead being a dull charcoal color, heavy with exhaustion. The bags beneath his eyes were an unsettling and ill-looking purple, like he hadn’t slept in years. His cheeks were hollow and his whole face looked gaunt, and now that Schlatt really took a close look at him, Wilbur was incredibly _thin_ , nothing like the handsome and well-fed man Schlatt had known before the election.

Wilbur was slow to reply, like he was reminiscing on something, but when he finally spoke it was slow and smooth, though lacking a certain dramatic and theatrical inflection he always seemed to use when he spoke.

_“It’s gone.”_

_“What? What do you mean it’s gone? Wilbur, why the fuck are you here?”_ Schlatt didn’t mean for his voice to rise in pitch, an unfamiliar and uneasy feeling pooling in his gut.

_“ You said it yourself, Schlatt,” _ Wilbur sighed, looking not at Schlatt but through him, obviously somewhere else in his head. _“ When you die, so does the country.” _

_“Wilbur, what the hell do you mean-?”_

_“I got rid of it.”_

Schlatt grabbed the Brit’s arms and shook him, trying to take him out of his own head and get him to stop being so vague. 

_“Wilbur! Fucking focus, man,”_ Schlatt urged, a frustrated growl lacing between the letters of his words. _“What did you do?”_

Wilbur’s head rolled limp and tilted to the side, blinking slowly at Schlatt. A lazy grin pulled at his colorless lips, another ill-fitting feature Schlatt noticed. Had he always been this pale?

_“I blew it to high heaven,”_ He said with a light laugh.

Schlatt stalled and his grip loosened on Wilbur, his face draining of color as realization crept up on him. His final words, words he had meant to just be empty threats and weak attempts at getting a rise out of everyone, they had become true. 

**“You know, if I die-**

It wasn’t meant to come true. They were supposed to keep the country alive to spite Schlatt’s dead body. Take it back and then everything would go back to the way it was, they were _meant_ to do that. They were supposed to dance on Schlatt’s grave and rub it in his face that the government was still running just fine and that the country was prospering. 

**-this country goes down with me.”**

Now it was gone. He was right. He should’ve been happy, danced around, and told Wilbur _‘I told you so’_ a thousand times. He should be laughing maniacally. He hated that country. He despised its citizens and his cabinet and now it was all over. It was done. It was over.

So why was Schlatt slamming his fist weakly against Wilbur’s chest, muttering hoarse curses and asking Wilbur why he had to go and make it all real? Why he had to go and make the bad guy _right?_

Wilbur was unfazed as he patted Schlatt’s back soothingly, speaking in a soft and aloof tone Schlatt has never heard before.  _“We were both the bad guys in the end,”_ He admitted.  _“You won’t be the only villain in their history, now.”_

Schlatt hated this. Wilbur wasn’t meant to be a villain. He was a _good_ guy.

It only got worse when Wilbur brought him into a hug, quiet sobs shaking Schlatt’s body as they stood there. Wilbur placed his chin on top of Schlatt’s head, and he spoke again before silence rested tensely between them.

_“Don’t blame yourself. It only makes things harder to accept.”_

~~**//////** ~~

Wilbur _thought_ he knew what it was like to be helpless. Invisible. Unheard.

**He was wrong.**

He and Schlatt didn’t really understand how the Afterlife worked, but they eventually found out they had the power to almost spectate the Overworld. By closing their eyes and lulling themselves into a sleep-like state, they could enter the Overworld domain, though they were powerless other than to watch and listen. They could only stay for a few days at a time before having to return to the Afterlife to recuperate. It could be minutes by the time they returned to the Overworld; it could be weeks. Time in the Afterlife passed differently than in the Overworld, and it didn’t help that it decided to fluctuate every other time they came back. They could go out and it would be hours after they had last visited, come back for what only felt like a few hours at most, go out again and a week would have passed. It was annoying when they had to play catch up.

Wilbur was also unsure of how he had a secondary version of himself that people could see and interact with, but since the Afterlife didn’t give any answers, he accepted this ‘Ghostbur’ and went on with his day. 

Wilbur was almost always hovering around Ghostbur when visiting the Overworld, as most of the time the ghost was with Tommy or pestering Fundy. He wasn’t sure if the ghost could see or hear him, but if he could, then the ghost wasn’t making any effort to communicate it. Even though Wilbur still thought of them to be traitors at the time, he felt somewhat relieved to see that his younger brother and his only son were at least faring well in the wake of his death. 

Ghostbur was definitely the version of himself everyone liked to remember, all of Wilbur’s good qualities, a bit airheaded at times but otherwise well-meaning. He was the version Phil had always seen Wilbur as. That irked Wilbur a little.

Wilbur would watch. He’d listen. He watched as Tubbo and Tommy and others rebuilt L’Manberg. Tommy was once again vice-president, and Tubbo was adjusting to the presidency well. Fundy had moved from L’Manberg to live with Eret, who he learned had adopted the fox-hybrid under Phil’s permission. He, initially, was heavily against it, because, after all, it was Eret, the traitor. But, as if Ghostbur could hear his protests and wanted to put him in his place, to remind him of how it came to this, he said it for what it was:

_“How awful of a person was I?”_

Wilbur didn’t follow Ghostbur for a while after that. 

After watching Fundy and Eret for a time, Wilbur slowly grew to realize his mistakes as a father. The same mistakes his own father had made, mistakes he told himself he wouldn’t follow in. He neglected Fundy and picked Tommy to be his right-hand, his vice president. When he stepped down from his presidency, he gave it to Tommy. Fundy was his son, he should’ve been his first choice, traitor or not. He may have stopped seeing him as a son in his past life, but now he wanted nothing more than to take it all back. To try and rectify his wrongs. He always babied Fundy, never saw him as the intelligent and great person he was and instead as a child. He was older than Tommy, and he treated Tommy like he was older than Fundy!

The first time he felt a spark of anger was when Fundy was left at the altar by Dream. His son was so upset, and he could do nothing to comfort him. He could only watch as his son fell deeper and deeper into a snake’s den. He wished he could pull him out by the tail and lecture him about the dangers of living within your own mind. He so desperately wanted for him to not end up like himself. He didn’t need to watch his son turn into that. He was just glad when Eret was there. He seemed to bring Fundy out of his own head. He was a good dad. Wilbur may never forgive him for his actions in the first war, but he could still be thankful for his concern for Fundy, and how he could fill the void Wilbur had created due to his incompetence as a parent. He just wished he could refill that void himself instead of with a surrogate. 

Now, Fundy was okay for the most part. Sure, he tried and failed to execute his piglin uncle, put his grandfather under house arrest, and betrayed L’Manberg again in the final war, watching as his father’s homeland was, for a final time, blown to holy hell by TNT and withers, but Wilbur would’ve done the same for the latter; L’Manberg was never meant to be. Wilbur was also still angry that Dream left his son at the altar, and that Phil and Techno didn’t try to comfort him when Wilbur died. Phil pawning him off to someone else to act as a father and Techno simply up and leaving was anger-inducing to Wilbur, but Fundy would be fine. He could handle it because he at least had a stable and reliable support system beneath him.

Tommy was an entirely different story. 

Wilbur never thought he could feel so much _fury_ until he started to follow Tommy around, both at the careless teen _and_ those who surrounded him.

First, he and some enderman-hybrid he befriended set George’s house aflame. Wilbur would’ve punted the insolent child for his lack of awareness that he had destroyed someone’s _home_. He still had no idea why he thought to do it. He wished he could ask. 

Then, he was imprisoned and sent to trial, with Tubbo having to try to defuse his loud-mouth brother and keep peace between the DreamSMP and L'Manberg. It obviously didn’t go very well. Then, Dream gave Tubbo a choice - exile Tommy, or never have peace. Tubbo, after giving Tommy so many chances and being put under immense pressure by Dream, was forced to exile him. Wilbur wasn’t mad at Tubbo, he knew Tubbo was doing what he thought was right, that’s always what he has done. No, he was angrier at Dream. 

He acted as if exile was the only option, pressured Tubbo, and threatened L’Manberg, _knowing_ the country couldn’t handle another war. The manipulative green bastard was getting away with his blatant abuse of power now that Tubbo and Tommy didn’t have Wilbur to call him out on it. They were kids, they couldn’t help but be scared of Dream. He was, after all, the founder of the SMP. It practically made him God, though he didn’t seem to possess any type of divine power. 

Wilbur’s blood only boiled further when he watched what Tommy was put through in exile. Many times he caught himself punching at Dream or hugging Tommy, only for them to walk straight through him. Powerless to do anything, he watched as Tommy was abused and broken down, his appearance deteriorating along with his spirit. Then, against all of Wilbur’s predictions, Tommy became compliant with Dream, no longer the wild child Wilbur had left behind. 

Tommy; who once had dueled and died by Dream’s hands; who had given up his most prized possessions to him in order to give L’Manberg independence, just for Dream to turn around and aid his delusional older brother in destroying it; who watched as Dream forced his best friend and the residents of his home to turn their backs on him and stay stuck in exile; Tommy, who had every reason to hate and distrust and fight against Dream, now considered the masked man a friend. Dream had convinced him of that, brainwashed him into believing that no one else cared for him. He made sure no one showed up to the beach party. He barred everyone from seeing him, and then turned around and gaslit Tommy into thinking Dream was the only one who cared about him. Dream, and Dream alone.

Wilbur felt sick watching and listening. 

Then, one day while he was in the Afterlife taking a break from the Overworld, the void suddenly felt like it was growing. The space around him and Schlatt was shifting, making room for someone, though how they knew that exactly they simply pegged down as them beginning to be in sync with the Afterlife. Both nervous as to who was joining them soon, they both hurriedly returned to the Overworld.

Wilbur checked on Fundy first. He was ok, doing something with Punz and Quackity. He could feel his connection to the Overworld beginning to fade. He had already been there a few hours prior and was supposed to stay in the Afterlife for longer while he regained enough energy to handle the exertion the Overworld weighed on him. He pushed forward, though, hurrying to Logstedshire to check on his little brother.

When he arrived, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay in the Overworld for much longer. However, as he looked over the blown-up remains of Logstedshire, and to the pillar of dirt that stood eerily off in the distance, and up at the shadow of his brother who teetered on the edge at the top of said pillar, Wilbur wished he had a voice, that he could stand below Tommy and catch him in his arms and tell him everything was going to be okay. He wished Tommy could see him, know he was there for him. His cries of protest as he was dragged back into the Afterlife were primal, not wanting to leave his brother by himself again. 

When he could no longer fight the grip of the Afterlife, he watched as the Overworld faded into the taunting white void he was imprisoned in. A prison his brother would be joining soon, and he could do absolutely _nothing_ to stop it. Torturous wails escaped his throat as he keeled over on himself, falling to the ground as he was racked with anguished sobs that echoed in the void around him. 

_Invisible._ **Helpless.** _Unheard_.

In that moment, he realized how utterly _selfish_ he was. He was so focused on getting the attention of his father, so resentful and self-centered about proving himself that he had failed to see that he had others to care for. He had a family who loved him, and he neglected them in one way or another all over his daddy issues. He was a coward for killing himself, an idiot for thinking that dying would solve anything. He wished he hadn’t thought of his friends and family as traitors, because most of them weren’t. Tommy not wanting the presidency wasn’t him betraying Wilbur. Tubbo only ever gave them information and never once showed signs of double-agency, and Wilbur let him get executed by his older brother. Fundy only came to resent Wilbur because he never treated him as an equal, never thought of him first before Tommy or Tubbo, so his rebelling against Wilbur shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It certainly wasn’t grounds to stop seeing him as his son. Sure, it stung, but Fundy was hurting and sought out others who would treat him like an adult. Schlatt was far from the best source for it, but at least he treated Fundy like his age. 

Wilbur had failed them. He was no glorified revolutionist or insane terrorist, he was far from it. He was a vain, delusional, and sad man, who valued the attention of his father - who had made it clear he wasn’t interested in Wilbur or Tommy as much as he was Techno an infinite amount of times - over the love and adoration and needs of the family he already had. He didn’t need a title. He didn’t need power. He needed them, that’s all he really needed. They gave him more than enough recognition, more than enough praise and love, yet he took them for granted. He tossed them aside and died and now he lives with his consequences. His own personal little hell was watching his family suffer, and it was all because he couldn’t stop to see what he already had in front of him. 

He could only thank whatever _demented_ deity that existed when Tommy never showed up in the Afterlife, Wilbur returning to the Overworld as soon as he could to discover he was living in Techno’s basement.

**//////**

Schlatt wasn’t really sure why he chose to return to the Overworld just to watch his former secretary of state do boring presidential things. It was probably because he would try to find a way to die a second time if he remained in the Afterlife any longer, and watching the reconstruction of Manberg was at least interesting. He was glad he was invisible to everyone. He didn’t need to unsettle the nice atmosphere the country had regained over the months of remodeling, and he quite enjoyed seeing how well Tubbo was doing as a president.

Though he couldn’t help but feel some pity for the teen. He was still young and running a country was no easy feat. Schlatt couldn’t count how many times he had popped into the Overworld just to see Tubbo hunched over a desk, signing papers and reading documents. Still, Schlatt would stick around. He wasn’t looking for anything particularly interesting, and he didn’t know anyone else he’d want to watch other than Quackity, though after hearing him talk about trying to revive him, he decided he was going to just stick with Tubbo. 

He already caused so much damage to the SMP and its inhabitants. When there was a loud noise, Tubbo would jump or shield himself with his arms instinctively. Quackity stiffened at the smell of alcohol or the sound of glass breaking. Fundy covered himself more, like he was ashamed of his hybrid qualities. Bringing him back was a mistake. They didn’t need him back. He didn’t want to come back. _At first._

However, it all changed once he started to see how Tubbo was treated.

Maybe it was his newfound sobriety giving him a clear view, but Schlatt was pretty sure pressuring a kid into exiling his best friend - no matter how unbearably annoying he might’ve been - was not the definition of ‘choice.’ He watched as his former vice president convinced the impressionable teen president that hunting down the anarchist with the foreboding moniker _‘Blood God’_ who was also responsible for murdering the teen would help resolve some of Manberg’s still outstanding grudges. 

Of course, it went over horribly. The guy’s catchphrase is literally that he never dies.

Schlatt had a lot of mixed emotions regarding Tubbo at this point. He knew he didn’t have the right to worry about the kid, not after everything he had put him through; but at the same time, he wasn’t _that_ version of Schlatt anymore. He wasn’t denying everything he had done in the past, no, he would live with that and he deserved to be held accountable. But it didn’t stop him from feeling a weird kinship with the teen, his empathy and emotional range vastly increasing while sober. Tubbo didn’t have anyone to really talk to and be a kid with after Tommy was exiled, and most adults he’d had in his life were not suited to be a role model of any kind. He was an orphan, and as much as he fought himself over it, Schlatt wanted to be in his corner. No one was, not unless they had ulterior motives. 

Schlatt questioned his own motives, sometimes thinking that this was some sad excuse to rid himself of the growing guilt he’d been facing over the months he’d spent in the Afterlife over the way he’s treated those who cared about him, even just a little bit. He wasn’t even sure if Tubbo had any interest in the ram-hybrid while he was alive. For all Schlatt knew, Tubbo hated his guts, witnessing him wincing when his best friend compared him to the late tyrant. 

What he didn’t question was the ire instilled in him when Tubbo was played for a fool.

Watching Tubbo sob his heart out after discovering the remnants of his friend’s exile and the ominous pillar of dirt and stone that was too tall to not be fatal was worse than anything Schlatt had ever experienced. The utter raw emotion from the teen twisted Schlatt’s stomach, but he couldn’t do anything to help him. But when his friend showed up weeks later with Tubbo’s murderer, saying that they were teamed up and that Tubbo betrayed him, Schlatt wanted nothing more than to knock some sense into the abrasive blonde and strangle the piglin with his bare hands. 

Watching as the two friends met once again a week or so later, hearing as the same blonde told Tubbo he was worth less than the two pieces of scrap metal he was so headstrong on getting back? Schlatt quite literally would’ve thrown that child if he hadn’t apologized and joined back at Tubbo’s side. Also if Wilbur hadn’t been filling him in on everything that Tommy had been through, which only fueled his rising fury.

Watching as Tubbo lived and fought through yet another war? Schlatt could barely watch as Tubbo shielded his best friend from a firework, even though it ended up killing them both. Luckily, they were strong, and respawn was gracious to them. He and Wilbur both seethed, both equal in their desire for revenge against Techno, Phil, and Dream. They only ever harmed or took advantage of the kids and then left them in the dust. Schlatt and Wilbur had it. Schlatt did enjoy watching Ghostbur give Phil a piece of his mind, feeling smug as the Angel of Death became flustered by the ghost’s loud, echoing voice as he yelled at him. Schlatt thought he had heard Wilbur’s voice break through at some point, but it was probably just his imagination. 

Then, when Tubbo moved away to Snowchester and began to experiment with nukes because he was so scared of his new home being attacked, Wilbur informed Schlatt of Niki and Jack’s plan to try and kill Tommy, and that Tubbo could also be in danger, even though Jack seemed to have struck up a friendship with the moobloom-hybrid. Schlatt could’ve slammed his head into a wall. They just deserved to be kids. They only did stupid shit and made fatal errors because they were expected to have the knowledge of an adult. They were expected to do so much and when they messed up, they were villainized for it. 

The most terrifying moment Schlatt had ever experienced, however, came when Tubbo and Tommy set out to face Dream. Schlatt and Wilbur were so sure that the teens had beat the masked bastard before he held a sword to Tubbo’s neck and demanded Tommy to choose between Tubbo or the discs. It made Schlatt’s blood run cold. Seeing the kid, _his_ kid, tell Tommy to just take the discs and run, like he was asking to die; it shattered any remaining thought that Schlatt was heartless, because at that moment he felt it both shatter from heartbreak and pound in his chest with apprehension.

After a maniacal laugh and monologue, Dream forced the teens to follow him, and he took them to a secret base at the bottom of the mountain they had fought on top of. In there were Tommy’s _real_ discs, along with other items and pets lost or presumed dead. Dream monologued some more, saying how Tommy was the glue of the server or something, Schlatt didn’t really care for what the guy had to say.

_“I’m gonna kill Tubbo, and then you’re gonna come with me, Tommy.”_

_“I’ll give you a few minutes, say your good-byes.”_

_“I’m not kidding. He’s losing his last life today.”_

Schlatt wished he was corporeal because, at this moment, he would’ve rammed his sharp horns into the smug man’s neck, and then made sure he suffered long and slow until he was the one who lost his last life. 

_“ **It’s okay. I’m okay with it.”** _

**_“It’s my time to go.”_ **

**_“We had a good time while we could.”_ **

Schlatt hated the way Tubbo sounded resigned to his fate. He didn’t even protest it, it was Tommy who did it for the both of them. Even then, Tubbo told Tommy it wasn’t worth it. Told him that he wasn’t getting out of here alive, no matter what they did. He comforted his friend, who quietly sobbed and told him that despite how it seemed, Tommy always thought of himself as Tubbo’s sidekick. That Tubbo was always the better one out of the both of them. That he didn’t know who he was without Tubbo with him-

**_“Yourself.”_ **

Schlatt couldn’t see or hear Wilbur, but he could feel the brit’s strong mourning. Schlatt would lose a son he didn't have the right to call his own; but Wilbur would lose a friend _and_ watch his brother suffer without his other half.

The indescribable relief he felt when Punz and Co. walked through the portal could’ve made him faint. He watched with satisfaction as Tommy killed Dream, taking away two of his three lives. That probably shouldn’t have been his initial feeling, seeing as the teen had already experienced enough violence for two lifetimes, but it just felt _good_ to watch the green bastard get what he deserved. He was disappointed when Tommy didn’t just kill him. Schlatt never gave the man a book on resurrection, he gave him a pack of beer. He was lying to save his own ass, and once again, everyone, including the kids, believed him. Dream got to live. 

Wilbur and Schlatt didn’t like that one bit.

While watching Tommy and Tubbo sit on the bench overlooking the sun coming over the horizon and listening to the newly retrieved Mellohi, Wilbur suddenly appeared. His ghost simply manifested behind the two of them, Schlatt now able to see him perfectly, just more transparent and… healthier. Nothing like how he had looked over the months they’d spent in the Afterlife, no, this Wilbur was the one he remembered meeting. His hair was groomed, there was a healthy glow to his skin, and he was no longer so gaunt. His eyes were once again a warm chocolate color with no dark eyebags beneath them, full of pride for his younger brother. 

He told Tommy how proud he was of him. Wilbur had realized in death that L’Manberg wasn’t his symphony, rather, Tommy was. It was family. The symphony was never unfinished because the land Wilbur idolized had been corrupted; it was unfinished because he needed to see Tommy finish what he began, realizing that his family, the ones that cared about him, had to finish what they had started. And that was exposing Dream for what he was; a manipulative liar. 

Schlatt was jealous that Wilbur got to speak to the two of them, but he was also glad. He wasn’t sure how either of them would’ve reacted to the once evil tyrant showing up completely sober and full of apologies. He was at least happy to see Wilbur start to make some sort of peace with his kin, bickering like old times when Tommy brought up the topic of resurrection and Wilbur acted as if he had no idea what Tommy was talking about. 

Schlatt didn’t know if he would ever make peace. If not peace, then he at least wanted to give those he hurt some closure. Let them know that he regrets his actions, that he was sorry and if they needed anything, Schlatt would do his best to help. He would try to make it up to them, even if it took eternity.

Still, he and Wilbur still harbored an unhealthy amount of anger for all the wrongs their kids had experienced, and it finally boiled over when Niki attempted to lead Tommy to the nuke testing site to get blown up while Jack stalled Tubbo to try and get his best friend killed. His only remaining family he had left that _cared_. 

That’s when Wilbur and Schlatt began plotting.

Wilbur’s symphony may have finished, but there was an encore calling his name. And it was permeated with a bloody vengeance. 

Maybe Schlatt wasn't so heartless; because his chest burned hotter than any whiskey or cigarette ever made him feel. He burned with ungodly fury. 

By themselves, they were probably no match for someone like Dream. Together, they had a slight chance. But both fueled by similar motives of revenge? Adding on Schlatt’s unrelenting persistence that never failed to get him to his goal and Wilbur’s clever quick-thinking; they would be an unstoppable force. 

And it was only a matter of time before someone resurrected them. All they had to do was wait.

~~**//////** ~~

Admittedly, when it did finally happen, Wilbur was napping, and Schlatt was just pacing back and forth like he tended to do while he waited in the Afterlife. He had been gone from the Overworld for a few days and was starting to get antsy, even though he still couldn’t go back yet. He said that last time he had gone, Tubbo was talking about decommissioning the Nukes with Jack. The man’s name made him feel sour, precisely why Wilbur stopped listening and napped instead. He wasn’t tired, it was just a great way to avoid conversations he didn’t want to have at the moment. 

It didn’t feel any different from visits to the Overworld. It was slow at first, the white void fading gradually into the landscape of the SMP. Except, neither of them were leaving the Afterlife, and the place visualizing around them was not anywhere they had been before, even in its very blurred form. Schlatt woke Wilbur in bewilderment, asking if he was seeing what was happening around them. Wilbur nodded, sitting up from the floor as it shifted beneath him, becoming much more uneven and jagged, forcing Wilbur to stand. 

The scene around them began to clear, Wilbur now registering the late-night sky above them and the tall rising rock walls of… a crater? The ground beneath them was a mix of bedrock and stone, criminally uneven and with many holes to trip into. They seemed to be in the middle of it, red candles surrounding him and Schlatt in a circle with what looked to be redstone connecting them and a small fire pit in front of them, two items burning within it, both too melted to identify.

Finally, when the world around them was clear, clearer than it ever was while spectating, Wilbur and Schlatt fell right on their asses, hitting their heads together in the process. They were so used to levitating in the Overworld that they simply expected to start floating, forgetting to use their feet, and they immediately lost balance. Both groaned as the blunt force of pain hit them for the first time. It had been a while since either of them had felt physical pain (even though sometimes their emotional pain felt physical), so it was a shock to the system, but it assured them that they were corporeal again. 

After looking around again and pinching himself a couple times, Wilbur looked to Schlatt to express the excitement building in his chest. The sight that met him was not what he expected. Schlatt still wore the same white dress shirt and black slacks, having ditched the jacket and tied the tie around his wrist a while ago. However, his dark, goat-like eyes were no more, instead replaced with entirely white eyes, no iris or sclera to be found. His hair, too, usually brunette, was a stark white like his eyes. His horns even changed, once an aged ivory color had turned blood red. Wilbur tugged at his own hair, seeing the white strands standing out in his hand, and he could only assume he too had whited-out eyes due to the way Schlatt’s face turned curious. 

While they remembered how to breathe, they didn’t notice the small group behind them gawking at who had just appeared before them. One was a tall creeper-hybrid with short green hair, who held a netherite sword and looked ready for a fight at any moment. He wore a spray painter’s mask and had goggles on his head, with a patterned green hoodie and jeans. Next to him was a woman with wool-like hair and small, earth-colored horns that poked out from beneath her sheep-like ears, holding clothes and a first-aid kit. She had on what looked to be a pirate hat and a ruffled shirt that reminded Wilbur of the ones he wore during the first war. Behind those two stood a very tall teenager: an enderman hybrid with white vitiligo and heterochromia, possessing one green eye on the black side of his face and one red eye on the white side. His hair was even split into two separate colors, a small crown resting on his head and a thin tail with a similarly colored and fluffy tip swishing around anxiously. The last one stood next to the sheep-hybrid, a human this time, wearing a… Sonic onesie? He held a very old leather book in his hands, mouth agape in the shared shock of the others.

It was hardly the group you’d expect to bring back two of the most important people to have ever existed on the server.

Eventually, the creeper-hybrid cleared his throat. Wilbur and Schlatt snapped towards the noise, meeting the mixed glances of the quartet. Their eyes must’ve been unsettling for the enderman-hybrid at least, who looked away from both of them. The human looked at Schlatt like he was an old friend, while the creeper and sheep-hybrid stared at them in an analyzing manner, like they were trying to see if they were agitated or confused. 

The group was the least of their concern. They had better things to worry about.

_“Where are Fundy and Tommy?”_

**“Where is Tubbo?”**

The sky began to grow lighter as the sun rose on a brand new day.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> schlatt and wilbur have all three lives back!!! what will they do? you'll just have to wait and see.... 
> 
> this entire story is inspired by one tiktok by snapp_art_ , which is why the first 5 chapters are titled after the chorus of 'Feeling Good' by Michael Bublé. Please check her out, she's a wonderfully talented artist!!! Her twitter is also Snapp_art!!
> 
> link is here: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeLGeUn3/
> 
> lastly, i hope you all have a wonderful day, and i'll see you in the next chapter!!


	2. It's a New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay!! these chapters will take me a week or two to write completely and then a few days to revise and edit, but i hope that this will have been worth the wait!! last one i wrote 10000+ words in 25 hours within two days, and as much as i am glad how it turned out: i do not wish to try that again anytime soon
> 
> edit 3/1/21: A RAW POTATO?!?!?! REALLY? its not even funny. goddamnit i didn't ask to cry today yall make animatics too fast.  
> edit 3/4/2021: what the actual fucking fuck WHYYYYYYYY I HATE THIS GODDAMN SMP I ONLY STAY BECAUSE OF THE ART AND ANIMATICS. anyways let's all remember this is canon DIVERGENCE-.

Sam and the rest of the group jumped at Wilbur and Schlatt's voices that barely reached above squeaking whispers, their words becoming muddled beneath fits of violent coughing.

It seemed to jolt them all from their amazed state, Puffy and Connor quickly moving to Wilbur and Schlatt while Ranboo and Sam stayed back to observe from afar. 

Despite their original theories on how they might look when returning to the land of the living, they couldn’t have guessed it would be such a drastic difference from their past appearances. The snow-white hair and eyes almost glowed beneath the moon’s dying light and their skin looked to be a faint translucent grey, like they still weren’t completely alive despite displaying the obvious signs of life. Wilbur’s tattered trench coat and shirt were still stained with dark splotches of blood, though long dried. There was even a tear in the Brit’s shirt, exposing an old scar which dipped into his chest. Schlatt, on the other hand, seemed to have shed his suit jacket and now had just the haphazardly buttoned wrinkled dress shirt and red tie tied tightly on his right wrist. His once curled, beige horns were now dark red, reminding Sam of the multiple jokes and references to Schlatt being the Devil, and from where he stood right now, he wasn’t inclined to disagree. Both of them looked disheveled to some degree, each sporting messy hair and dark eye-bags as if they hadn’t slept for awhile, despite being literally dead for the past five months. The book had warned them of the cosmetic side effects of being brought back to life, and while they were only temporary and lasted for a day or two at most, Sam couldn’t help but marvel at the differences.

Connor handed the resurrection book to Sam before going with Puffy, the book no longer what the guy needed to focus on as he rushed to his old friend’s side. Sam looked at the book’s leather covering, memories of the events leading up to this running through his mind.

~~**///////** ~~

Admittedly when Sam had found the decrepit and aged book amongst the items Dream had left in that final bunker room, he had thought he found Ranboo’s actual memory book he had supposedly lost months ago. The pages were yellow and torn at the edges from what looked to be a well-loved book. Its title had been scratched out, the leather completely shredded in that specific area of the cover. It looked to be years old, though assuming the enderman-hybrid had been wandering aimlessly with a barely functional memory for most of his life, the book had probably grown up with him. Furthering Sam’s theory, it had the indecipherable language of Ender scrawled throughout it! So why _wouldn’t_ it be the overgrown teen’s? 

Sam felt terrible when he learned about Ranboo’s stress over the book, the teenager having disclosed it to him one day while he hung around Snowchester. Sam had been waiting for Tubbo to accompany him to the Big Innit Hotel site, but the moobloom was busy giving Foolish a tour of the quaint town. So, Sam was sitting out on the pier, looking over the water when Ranboo had appeared beside him, his lanky and staturous size dwarfing Sam, but the teen compensated by pressing his knees to his chest while he sat beside Sam. 

When Sam asked what the enderman was doing so far from where he had taken up residence in the Arctic Empire, Ranboo simply shrugged, said he woke up nearby and just followed the rising smoke. Sam was worried about Ranboo’s lapse in memory, but the teen brushed it off too quickly for him to ask if he remembered anything, already cracking a humorous one-liner that Sam couldn’t help but grin at. 

Ranboo was never the best at addressing his inexplicable behavior, and when Sam and Puffy had tried to ask him directly about it, he poorly formed an impromptu excuse and ran away before either of them had a chance to try and stop him. So, Sam had taken to just letting the enderman slowly come around, leaving a line out for the enderman to grab a hold of whenever he felt ready to talk seriously. Puffy was still keen on being direct with Ranboo, though it was apparent who was getting closer to cracking through the thick walls Ranboo had built around himself when the enderman would willingly approach Sam and actively avoid the sheep woman. 

They began conversing, Ranboo cracking jokes and references Sam didn’t understand but laughed at anyway. It wasn’t until the enderman had made another joke about his terrible memory that Sam quipped back that the teen should start keeping a notepad to keep him on track and remember stuff that Ranboo began to tell him about the memory book. 

Ranboo explained how he's had it since he started to have his amnesiac spells, fearful that after losing memory of his parents and where he had come from that he would forget who he was. When Sam asked what his earliest memory was, Ranboo said he didn’t know because the memory book had been tampered with, all of the pages of extensive notes and recollections gone, leaving only a smiley-face. Ranboo added that he couldn’t even be sure if it was his real memory book, as it could’ve been replaced and stolen. But without a clear memory of exactly what his book looked like, the one he had in his possession was the memory book to him. 

Sam couldn’t even begin to imagine how the teen felt. Sam would go insane if he had to deal with even _half_ of the enderman’s issues, and from the way Ranboo spoke about it, fidgeting with his coat and his voice strained with anxiety, it would seem that the enderman had similar concerns. 

The conversation didn't get much further from that point as Tubbo came barrelling down the docks, out of breath and mouth spewing out apologies. Ranboo and Sam were surprised by the sudden interruption, but before Sam could ask for Tubbo to give him a few more minutes with Ranboo, the enderman was already questioning Tubbo about why he was so energetic. His nervous demeanor had completely shed from him, now replaced by excitement that matched Tubbo’s. 

The two hybrids quickly fell into conversation, and even though Sam had tried there was no pausing them, Tubbo already beginning to walk away from the docks as Ranboo closely followed. Sam trailed behind, his questions and thoughts bouncing loosely in his head while he kept a careful eye on the area around them. The group began to travel the unpaved forest, the quiet crunch of snow and contagious laughter of the teens echoing through the trees as Sam set aside his thoughts to focus on whatever topic Tubbo had dragged him into conversation with. 

Sam had never forgotten about that conversation, though. He never forgot about Ranboo’s memory book, or how important he said it was. How his face fell when he told Sam that it was all gone one day, and how he couldn’t be sure about the book even being the original copy. Sam remembered the chill that ran down his spine when he heard that everything had been replaced by a single smiley-face, a white mask and green hoodie flashing in his mind. It was the latter detail that pushed him to march up to the prison after dropping off the two teens at Tommy’s Hotel, going to Dream’s cell and demanding to know what he had against Ranboo that made him do that. 

When the masked man declared he had no idea what Sam was talking about, Sam could hardly keep himself from shoving the man into the lava wall. He was so utterly frustrated with Dream, from learning of Tommy’s treatment in exile to the blatant manipulation of Tubbo, and now armed with this new information about Ranboo, Sam had almost every right and reason to end the man there and then.

But then, it would be too easy. Too quick. Dream was already suffering enough within the confined obsidian walls, and as much as most of the server wouldn’t bat an eye to a mysterious death in the prison in which only Sam had access, that would be letting Dream win and Sam lose. By proving that Sam, the creeper-hybrid, wasn’t as calm and cool and collected as he presented himself to be; that he could blow up in rage and be a cold-blooded killer, because then he could _really_ live up to his heritage.

Sam wasn’t that. He refused to be as such, because that would be stooping to Dream’s level. Sam didn’t prey on the weak and helpless or abuse his power to instill a fear within the denizens of the SMP. Sam wasn’t Dream, and he planned to keep it that way.

As Sam left, he told Dream that he was going to comb through his bunker to see if they had missed anything. If the sudden tension in the prisoner’s shoulders was anything to go by, there was bound to be _something_ left behind after everyone had made out with their stolen belongings and pets. Dream confidently told him seconds later that he wouldn’t find anything, and Sam left at that, not bothering to grace Dream with a response. 

That’s when, after hours of tearing down walls and breaking open the floor, he found the book. It was hidden beneath the large nether portal and packed tightly between some obsidian and stone, hidden so well that Sam almost admitted defeat so he could go home, as it was already late into the night and fatigue was running through every part of his body. 

When Sam presented it to Ranboo the next time he saw him, the enderman flipped through a few of the pages and solemnly stated that it was _definitely_ not his memory book. Confused, he asked if Ranboo could translate what it said. Ranboo did, reading off what seemed to be a list of items and instructions and after reading an incantation-like excerpt, it dawned on Sam that this was, indeed, no memory book.

**This was the resurrection book.**

The rest was history; he brought his findings to Puffy, then collaborated with Ranboo and her to figure out what they should do. They all eventually settled on reviving Wilbur after long weeks of extensive thought and deliberation, the decision being finalized after witnessing Tommy, Fundy and Tubbo visiting the L’Manberg crater together, leaving flowers in its center. It was well known that Wilbur was buried by Phil, although he never told anyone where because, in his words, “Wilbur would’ve wanted to rest, not to have people visiting him constantly.”

Some of the items they needed were easily accessible; redstone dust, blaze powder, a Totem of Undying (Ranboo said Technoblade had given him one and was fine with departing from it, saying the piglin would just give him another while lecturing about how hard they were to get), and an item of the deceased. In Wilbur’s case, it was his guitar’s pick. And eventually, it was a branded, gold coin for Schlatt, who originally was supposed to stay dead; because why would the group bring back one of the server’s greatest and most infamous _villains?_

_That’s when ConnorEatsPants got involved._

~~**//////** ~~

There was one item the group had no idea how to make or find themselves. However, Puffy knew who would definitely have a few. 

Connor had built a reputation as a collector specializing in exotic wares after departing from Schlatt Co., and one of his specialties were things called _Eyes of Ender._ No one knew exactly what their purpose was or why they were so rare, but what was known was that Connor had quite a few. He was also known for being generous, offering more than what most requested or wanted; as long as he received something in return.

Once a businessman, always a businessman.

So, Sam and Puffy made the week-long journey to where Connor lived. Since he was not a resident of the SMP, the journey was long, but luckily wasn’t very hard to find, his shop quite popular among travelers looking to return home with souvenirs. Puffy herself had visited quite a few times on her travels before settling in the SMP, which is why they knew what they needed to bring. Sam had brought some netherite ingots and Puffy brought some _Hearts of the Sea_ she collected from her time as a pirate, wanting to be prepared for whatever Connor would ask of them.

What they definitely weren't prepared was when the collector asked for _Schlatt_ instead.

Apparently, Dream’s bunker stunt had spread far beyond just the borders of the SMP, and many whispered about the resurrection book he spoke of that kept him from the clutches of the server’s wrath. While many brushed it off as a tall tale spun by a desperate man and said those who believed him were idiots, Connor kept an open mind to the idea. He had heard of his former business partner’s death a few weeks after it had happened, and couldn’t help but feel guilty for not trying to reconcile with him before he kicked the bucket, so the idea of there being a book able to bring him back gave Connor enough hope that one day, maybe he’d get his chance for reconciliation.. 

It was just happen-stance that Sam and Puffy needed something from him, and that Connor had spent enough time analyzing people when he was in business to see that they had come prepared and with a purpose. Despite trying to seem like they weren’t looking for anything in particular, they didn’t travel so far with such high value goods just to _browse._ They piqued Connor’s curiosity when they settled on his display case of _Ender Eyes,_ so when they asked him if they could have one, Connor offered to give every last one to the hybrids; in exchange for knowing what they planned on doing with them.

If Schlatt taught Connor one thing, it was how to get what you wanted. 

After what must’ve been half an hour of back and forth arguing, with Connor calling out Sam and Puffy’s lies and the pair adamantly denying the claims, they all had reached a stand-still. Connor refused to hand over the eyes, and Sam and Puffy refused to give up the real reason they needed them. So, Connor switched his tactics, and told them they didn’t need to tell them why they needed them anymore because he now had something else in mind. He asked if the resurrection book was real.

Connor’s suspicions were confirmed as soon as the question left his mouth, both hybrids giving him a deer in the headlights kind of look and Puffy let out a small gasp. 

That’s when he demanded to be let in on the operation, or else the pair could kiss the eyes good-bye. They could keep their riches, he didn’t need them. All he wanted was to revive Schlatt while they revived Wilbur. While initially against the idea, the pair begrudgingly agreed to his terms. They made him promise to take Schlatt with him, out and away from the SMP once he was revived, and Connor eagerly agreed. 

As they returned to the DreamSMP, they filled Connor in about what had been going on recently, but Connor didn’t really pay attention, too elated by the thought of his friend’s return. Maybe then they could finally resolve their differences and things could go back to normal.

_Connor shouldn’t have been so naïve._

~~**//////** ~~

Puffy knelt down beside the trenchcoat wearing man, Wilbur as Sam had told her, setting down the clothes and first-aid kit next to her. He was definitely what Puffy had imagined when Sam described him to her; tall, eccentric, and with an aura about him that seemed to demand respect. Though in his current hacking fit, he was certainly lacking in the latter.

She opened the kit as Connor crouched next to the ram-horned man that sat adjacent to Wilbur, presumably Schlatt. She had heard a lot of stories about him; none of them good. But she wanted to give him a chance, so she handed a small water-bottle to Connor from the first-aid kit and then took one for herself, opening it and putting it in Wilbur’s (uncomfortably) cold hands. 

She patted his back gently with one hand while she guided his hand to his mouth, urging for him to take a sip which he did. He sputtered a few times, but eventually stopped coughing and quickly downed the water like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Looking over to Connor and Schlatt, they were in the same situation as her own, an empty water-bottle cast aside while Connor was talking fifty miles a minute, Schlatt looking like his brain was struggling to catch up as he breathed in deeply.

Wilbur wheezed something, but it was too quiet for her to hear as he coughed a few more times. Puffy grabbed one of the fluffy jackets she had in the pile of clothes and threw it around the Brit’s shoulders, remembering his deadly cold hands.

“You shouldn’t try to talk, it’s gonna be a few hours before you can do anything more than walk and breathe,” Puffy told him, looking him over for any injuries that should be patched up. 

Wilbur cleared his throat, but that only made him begin to cough again. However, he was able to muster out a coherent sentence amongst his dry hacking.

“ _Where are Fundy and Tommy?”_

Puffy’s eyes narrowed in confusion before she answered. “They’re fine. Listen, just try to relax-.”

She was cut off by a shove as she toppled over, letting out a yelp as she made contact with the hard ground. She watched as Wilbur rose to his legs shakily, the jacket slipping off from his shoulders. Schlatt was quick to follow, Connor ceasing his rambling and abandoning the ram-hybrid’s side to help Puffy up. She could’ve sworn she heard a hoarse apology slip from the Brit’s mouth, but it was drowned out by Sam.

“Alright, let’s not think about doing anything rash, guys,” Sam slid his sword half-way out of its sheath that rested on his hip, a subtle threat that contrasted starkly against the leveled calm he spoke with. “You just got back. You’re probably confused-.”

 _“We’re far from it, actually,”_ Schlatt rasped out, clearing his throat afterwards. _“Where’s Tubbo?”_

“Why, w-what could you want from him?” Ranboo spoke up, the first words Puffy has heard him speak since helping chant the incantations. It was heartwarming to see him getting defensive over his friend, though she did not like the tone the ram-hybrid replied with, boarding on a hiss if his voice wasn’t so cracked. 

_“None of your goddamn business, that’s what.”_

“Schlatt, Wilbur, if neither of you can calm down, you will not like what happens next,” Sam warned, now fully unsheathing his sword for it to glimmer in the slowly rising sun. 

_“We’ve died once. You aren’t that intimidating, Sam,”_ Wilbur stated, unamused. _“We just need to see them.”_

“You can,” Puffy interjected. “Just after we make sure you both aren’t gonna go and try to start a few more wars and set off more dynamite.”

 _“No time, we’ve been waiting for months. You can’t make us wait any longer,”_ Wilbur argued, taking a step back away from everyone. Sam matched him, taking a step forward with an ever-tightening grip on his sword. 

“Hold on, what do you mean by ‘wait?’” Ranboo questioned. 

_“Since Tommy told me he was going to revive me, and that was a while ago now,”_ Wilbur took a few more steps back, and Sam advanced further. Schlatt continued to stand where he was, looking between Wilbur and Sam and around the crater. Puffy, Connor and Ranboo watched with bated breath, praying that this wasn’t going to end before it started. They knew that the two men had three lives again and would simply respawn back in the circle, but to lose one life within five minutes of returning to the land of the living wasn’t something they were hoping for. _“Sam, surely you understand?”_

“Wilbur, don’t do what I think you’re about to do.”

_“What could that be, Sam?”_

“We literally watched you and Schlatt fall over because you couldn’t keep balance, I doubt you could get farther than fifty feet,” Sam was pretty close to Wilbur now, who took yet another slow step back.

 _“Oh never Sam, why would we-?”_ Wilbur suddenly swiped his foot beneath Sam’s feet, tripping the creeper-hybrid before turning on his heel and running, stumbling every few steps at first before really picking up speed. Schlatt also darted off in a different direction than Wilbur, both getting a good head start. 

_“SORRY SAM!”_ The Brit yelled over his shoulder.

Sam groaned and jumped back to his feet, looking to Puffy and the group. “Puffy, with me. Connor and Ranboo, catch Schlatt before he gets too far.”

Connor and Ranboo nodded before racing after Schlatt, who was already starting to climb the crater’s walls. Puffy and Sam ran after Wilbur, who was making good ground on climbing out of the crater, about a third of the way up. Puffy would’ve admired his agileness if he wasn’t currently running from them. Sam launched himself to the crater’s wall, quickly scaling and gaining on Wilbur. Puffy was still a bit below them, barely avoiding the small chunks of debris falling from the scrambling going on above her. 

What caused her to stop climbing was the terrified screech of Ranboo. Looking across the crater, she saw him jump down from where he was originally climbing. Connor fell shortly after as a surge of water came pouring down from a pocket of earth kicked away by Schlatt, washing away Connor as Ranboo booked it away from the water on the ground. 

Sam too looked over in concern for the enderman, and that’s when Wilbur took his chance, lowering down and kicking Sam in the head. Sam lost his grip on the wall and fell backwards, dazed from the blunt force and landing on the hard ground below with a thud. Puffy yelled out to Sam, dropping down carefully to the ground to make sure he was okay.

Puffy looked to Connor and Ranboo after checking over Sam, both luckily unharmed other than Connor being drenched in water and a small drop of water stinging Ranboo's cheek. Sam had a small bump on his head from the spot Wilbur kicked him at, but otherwise he was just knocked out by the force of the fall and would be awake after a few minutes. And by the time Puffy had looked back up to the crater walls, Wilbur was already gone and Schlatt was just rising to the crater’s rim, walking away briskly and disappearing into the SMP.

This was _definitely_ not how she thought things were going to go over. 

**~~/////~~ **

Wilbur was not proud of causing violence within his first few moments back in life. 

He still wobbled on his feet slightly as he jogged, the adrenaline that coursed through him back in the L’Manberg crater now completely gone and replaced with aching muscles and blistered hands. The sun rose slowly over the horizon, and Wilbur was tempted to take in its warm glow before remembering his task at hand: find his boys.

However, this proved to be a problem when everything was completely remodeled and renovated, and seeing as he had paid less attention to the surroundings than to Fundy or Tommy, Wilbur was utterly turned around. The Prime Path could’ve been a good place to start, but seeing as he was sure it was only a matter of minutes before the small group he and Schlatt thwarted would come looking for them, he opted to stay off the one road that had consistently stayed the same throughout his entire time being dead. He weaved through buildings and slunk along the shadows in the vast plains the main SMP was built upon. 

Another problem that posed itself: Wilbur had little idea of exactly _where_ the places his boys could be were. When he and Schlatt would enter the Overworld, they would have to imagine the place they wanted to be, or a person they wanted to watch over. The latter option was much easier for the former dead seeing as the SMP changed all the time, and they were more interested in the people anyways. That sentiment, while well-meaning, had come back to bite him, and most definitely Schlatt, in the ass. 

Wilbur knew Fundy spent a lot of time either in Eret’s Castle or around the Badlands, which would take Wilbur a hot second to find without the Prime Path to guide him. Tommy was spastic, his location different every time Wilbur had visited him, so there was no telling where the blonde teen would be at that moment. Wilbur could run into him for all his luck. 

The sun climbed in the sky and grew brighter, the clear blue sky above beginning to turn cloudy, a humid feel in the air enough to indicate a rainstorm was coming. Wilbur couldn’t remember the last time he felt rain, or water for that matter, on his skin. If it was anything like how the sun danced on his cold body, he could stand still and bask in a cold downpour for hours. 

That water bottle the sheep woman had given him tasted like divine ambrosia, and he couldn’t imagine what other foods and drinks would taste like after having gone so long without a need for food. In fact, everything in the Overworld felt one-hundred times stronger, sense-wise; colors seemed to pop and be brighter than what you’d normally expect, everything from the grass he trudged on to the colorful buildings that littered the SMP, wood even glowing in its own natural way. It felt like Wilbur had been given metaphorical contacts, because he had never seen the world this… vibrant, and full of life. 

When he touched things, like the rough, rocky walls of the crater, he felt his hands tingle from the feeling of having something else other than soft clothing or hair or the blank void to touch, to tangibly feel. He could’ve melted at the sensation of finally being able to interact with the Overworld, even if it meant mildly injuring himself. 

The smells of the SMP flooded his senses as soon as he had left the crater, taking comfort in the familiar ones and documenting the new ones in his mind to come back to later. It gave him a headache from how strong everything was, but the pain only filled him with more glee for being back in the living world. 

Sounds seemed so much louder, the soft crunch of twigs and leaves making him look over this shoulder once in a while, afraid someone was walking behind him when he was completely alone. He could hear the winds picking up a bit, blowing wisps of greying hair from his face. Wilbur only noticed his change of appearance when he had passed by a window of a building, stopping abruptly to stare at his reflection and allow himself to be taken aback. His skin was turning tanner, more skin-colored than the drab grey he had arrived with, and his hair had lost most of its white and was replaced by an ever growing dark grey. White lingered on the ends of his hair for the most part, and a solid strip of hair down the middle had kept the snowy color. His eyes were beginning to lose the void look, hints of a pale hazel beginning to break through around his iris.

He continued on after taking in his reflection, happy that at least he wouldn’t look _actually_ dead for the rest of his time on the SMP.

Time crawled by, and by the time the sun had positioned itself above Wilbur before being shrouded in clouds, he was beginning to think he would never find what he was looking for. It felt like he had been walking in circles, and he could’ve sworn he had walked past the same building at least three times. At this rate, Sam and his group would find him, and then he really wouldn’t stand a chance. He had the advantage of surprise in the crater, and with the unexpected distraction from Schlatt, Wilbur was able to keep his lead (even if he did feel bad about it afterwards). He had seen the way Sam interacted with Tommy and Tubbo, and he did genuinely appreciate the way the creeper-hybrid treated his teenage brother, especially after everything he'd been through, so of course it killed him a little bit on the inside when he kicked him down from the wall. Wilbur hoped the hybrid would just hold off on his revenge subduing a little longer. 

Wilbur just wanted to see them, make sure they were okay. He didn’t even need to speak to them, they didn’t need to see him; he just needed peace of mind. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since his final visit as a ghost, seeing as Afterlife time liked to be wonky and changed to keep Wilbur on his toes. It could’ve been weeks since he’d been back, or it could’ve been a few days. Either way, any amount of time was too long. Wilbur needed the cathartic relief of seeing them with his own two eyes. And undoubtedly, this time would be so much better than the times he’s had to look through the glass wall of the Afterlife, because he’d see them in the flesh and the utter vibrancy of the life the Overworld was hurling towards him at the moment.

Just when he had begun to lose hope of figuring out where he was while weaving through an oak forest and its trees, he exited the treeline and was greeted by the spectacle of a stone castle in the distance. Colored flags hung from its towers and one large one blew gently in the breeze in the center of the compound. A large, wooden drawbridge was lowered over a deep moat that surrounded the building, an open invitation to anyone who wanted to enter. The stone was perfectly chiseled and cemented, every brick meticulously placed with care and logic, each looking smooth to the touch, even from the distance Wilbur stood from. He could see the path leading up to the drawbridge and the beautiful flowers and shrubbery placed all around the castle, giving it even more of a proud appearance.

Eret’s castle was breathtaking. Wilbur had seen it hundreds of times, but now that he really stopped to _admire_ it, it was clear how much he had not paid any attention to the background noise as a ghost.

He was taken from his thoughts when he heard the distant sound of a _BOOM_. A flash of light erupted from the castle’s center, a small trail of smoke billowing out of the top afterwards. 

Now, this could’ve been anything, and it was likely to be Fundy's beloved hobby. Wilbur had seen Fundy experiment and invent multiple things in his time as a ghost, and has in turn seen that many times they end up blowing up in his son’s face. A misplaced part, too much power, not enough redstone, _anything_ could cause such a thing to happen. It was one of the things Wilbur had failed to see when he was alive before; that his son was incredibly imaginative, and really had a passion for anything and everything technical. Fundy wasn’t afraid of failure for his inventions, and Wilbur had seen him gracefully take the loss of an invention not working out, tweak it, and try again. Even if that meant it would just blow back up in his face.

To Wilbur now, though, flashes of a button and the devastated land plagued by explosions, agonized faces of friends and family were branded in his mind while the haunting echoes of screaming and the smell of burnt earth and gunpowder filled his nose. The phantom feeling of blazing heat on his back and dust caking his skin only to enter his lungs. Utter terror filled Wilbur, the rational memories of Fundy’s invention’s failures slipped from his mind as he immediately assumed the worst case scenario. He moved faster than he ever did in the crater, tripping over himself multiple times as he skidded down a small hill and raced to the castle. His beanie had fallen off at some point, shrugged off by Wilbur’s frantic movement, but he could care less.

 _‘Fundy was hurt,’ ‘Fundy was seriously hurt and he needed to help him,’ ‘The explosions were his fault and now his son was hurt,’_ were the few thoughts that coursed through Wilbur’s mind as he practically jumped on the drawbridge, running inside the castle. The inside wasn’t much to comment on as Wilbur was running too fast to care, but he unconsciously registered the red carpet that masked his heavy footsteps and the lantern lined hallway he ran down, paintings covering the walls and beautiful drapes hanging from the high ceiling. Luckily for Wilbur, the castle was no maze. There was one hallway that led to everywhere from the throne room to the courtyard, which was where the explosion had originated from. Wilbur skidded to a halt as soon as he reached the entrance of the courtyard, panting heavily but not allowing himself to stop. 

The area was bigger than you’d expect, with a few trees and well decorated ponds and flower beds planted everywhere along the walls. In the center was a forever maimed section of grass, completely singed away by blasts and charred black from a recent one, smoke still wisping from the ground. A few metallic parts laid around the area, a turned over toolbox sitting nearby with screwdrivers and nails and hammers spilling out of it. A completely broken contraption laid next to the toolbox, springs and gear sticking out at weird angles while an extinguished redstone torch sat on top of it. It was about the size of a furnace, so its explosion being as prominent as it was only caused Wilbur to worry more. 

However, it was the sight of a long-lost son that made Wilbur’s heart flutter with joy. Fundy stood with his back towards Wilbur, standing next to his tools with a book in hand, scribbling things in it with a pen. He wore what he had always worn; a black jacket with a high collar and golden handcuffs, and even though Wilbur couldn’t see the front of him he knew that the jacket also had a small part of the coat with blocks of pastel color along the edges. He could see the ends of a white shirt poking from beneath the jacket, and the hat Fundy always wore was lopsided by the slightest, fox ears poking out from holes made in the hat by Tommy after Fundy had complained constantly about his ears cramping beneath it. He also wore the same pair of black jeans he always had, a bushy fox tail swaying lightly behind him while he looked over whatever was in that book. He was a fox-hybrid through and through, though he was much more animal looking than Sam or Schlatt, who more or less took on smaller traits of their hybrid half.

Wilbur didn’t realize exactly how heavily he was panting from exertion (and a bit from anxiety), because Fundy’s ears flicked back and he turned on his heel to face Wilbur. 

“Is that you, Eret-?”

Fundy’s brown eyes widened and he dropped the book in his hands, landing with a nearly inaudible thud as he gaped at the sight before him. Wilbur saw how his face, snout and most of his upper body was caked with soot from the explosion. He obviously did not stand back far enough to observe. His steam-punk goggles hung loosely around his neck, Wilbur noticing the circles around his son’s eyes that had not been dirtied by the ash that stained his fur. His white shirt was too stained, as was his jacket and clawed paws that served as his hands. Wilbur usually would’ve chuckled at how ridiculous he looked, but all that filled his mind was that Fundy was _still_ hurt in some capacity and anxiety ran through his bloodstream. 

Wilbur didn’t hesitate to jog to where Fundy stood still in shock, not thinking of the fact that this was definitely bizarre and unreal for the fox-hybrid who watched Wilbur die all those months ago and was now suddenly back in front of him, his appearance now a bit ghoulish and a petrified look on his face. Once Wilbur was in front of him, he worriedly checked him over, trying to find _something_ that would justify his surge of anxiety for his son. Even when he didn’t find anything, he still gave Fundy a double-glance, tilting his son’s head with his hands to really give a good inspection. This is what snapped Fundy from his frozen stance, grabbing Wilbur’s wrists and lowering them, both of them staring at each other. Wilbur could feel the way Fundy’s paws shook, and it didn’t help that Wilbur’s did the same.

There was no deciphering the emotions that clouded Fundy’s face, too many flickering in and out like a dying flame in his eyes. He opened and closed his mouth like he was trying to find words that could somehow make sense of the person that was standing before him. 

Wilbur’s panic died away as rationale returned to his senses, realizing quickly what he had done as his eyes dragged over to the broken machine that sat beside Fundy. He completely forgot about his son’s volatile past-time, and now he had made things a little bit more complicated for the both of them.

The air between father and son was silent, both unable to conjure the words that could accurately depict the situation they were in. 

Wilbur was alive, wearing the same clothes with the stains and rips from when he had died, and even though he had a ghostly resemblance, he was completely corporeal and tangible in Fundy’s paws. And instead of the former president’s eyes looking at Fundy with scorn, they were full of the paternal love that Wilbur had always shown him before the Election. What also accompanied that was the tearful look of remorse, whether for barging in to fret over Fundy for an unlikely reason Wilbur had foolishly convinced himself with, or for everything else he had done wrong before he died, it wouldn’t be clear until Wilbur would explain himself.

What broke the silence wasn’t words. Instead, after a few minutes of tense bewilderment, Fundy dropped Wilbur’s wrists and threw his arms around his torso, hugging him so tightly it nearly winded Wilbur. Wilbur only took a few seconds of processing before he too had his arms around Fundy, trying his best to match Fundy’s grip even though his body was still weakened by the lost adrenaline that filled him minutes prior. A rush of emotions hit Wilbur all at once, ranging from joy to grief to shame to zeal for getting to hug his son after what had felt like years. It was overwhelming, but Wilbur assumed it must also be for Fundy too after he heard the fox-hybrid quietly sniffling into his shoulder, which was all Wilbur could really register other than the smell of ash that still coated his son's soft fur. 

Wilbur’s words were what really broke the dam to both his own and Fundy’s waterworks, voice cracking as his grip on his son only tightened to reassure the both of them that he was real; that what was happening at the moment was reality and not just a dream.

_“I’m sorry, Fundy.”_

It wouldn’t fix everything. 

Things were **far** from being okay. 

Words couldn’t even begin to undo what Wilbur had created and done and _neglected,_ but in this moment, all they needed was each other; 

_Something they had gone far too long without._

**~~//////~~ **

Schlatt cursed himself after the fifth time he had walked past the White House. 

Unlike Wilbur, Schlatt took to the Prime Path to find where he was going, which was SnowChester. It was the only place he knew Tubbo could be. The problem was: there were no goddamn directories anywhere. The one thing this godforsaken SMP could use for the amount of buildings and different lands within it, and they hadn’t thought to do it yet. There were also two other prominent reasons Schlatt was frustrated with his lack of direction:

One was that when he was previously alive, he never left the confines of Manberg’s borders. He rarely left the White House for that matter, usually drinking himself to oblivion in his office or sleeping away a hangover wherever his body would find itself when his energy depleted. He didn’t travel because his domain is where he held power, and he refused to let himself lose any ounce of that power even for a minute outside of the country _he_ controlled. 

The second was because, after Manberg had been blown up the third and final time, Tubbo didn’t stay anywhere near the central part of the SMP (beside the time he and Tommy had gone to face Dream, though Schlatt chose to shove that particular memory to the back of his mind for the time being). That’s the reason the teen had built SnowChester, or at least from what Schlatt could assume to be the reason; it was so he could be as far from Manberg as possible. So, anytime Schlatt would visit after the final war, he’d be in SnowChester with Tubbo, watching him make nukes with Jack and build up his small community. And while Schlatt was glad, relieved even, that the teen had enough emotional-awareness that the home he once knew was too painful to stay near after all the traumatic experiences and scars he had gained, physically and mentally; he really wished the kid had built an obvious road to the town. 

He was on his toes, however. He knew that there would be trouble if anyone saw him, _especially_ anyone who was involved in the Manberg vs. PogTopia conflict (which was pretty much the entire population of the SMP). So, anytime he’d hear or see someone coming, he’d duck between buildings or hide in the first place he could find. Luckily, it had only happened a few times, though the one time he heard the confident, loud-mouthed voice of Wilbur’s brother walking past with Jack, who would reply to Tommy in a cheerful tone that Schlatt knew was fake. He was tempted to stop the both of them, intimidate Jack into running and tell Tommy not to trust him, but he knew exposing himself to anyone but Tubbo first would only cause panic and unwanted attention, so he let them go past without incident. 

And it would seem that he wouldn’t have even needed to do that, as when he poked his head out to watch them walk away, he saw a tall man walking behind the two dressed with a hard hat and bright builder’s vest, carrying a sword on his back. 

_“Sam Nook,”_ As Wilbur had told him once while they hung around in the Afterlife together. _“I think it’s a robot, NPC-like thing Sam made for Tommy. It’s pretty realistic and looks a lot like Sam, hence the name. It builds Tommy’s hotel and also as a body-guard when needed, like an extra set of eyes for Sam when he can’t hang with Tommy. It speaks in jumbled noises, but text shows up holographically on the vest for people to read. I think it’s supposed to replicate a game Tommy plays, Animal Walking. Something along those lines. Pretty nifty, right?”_

Schlatt did agree, and was grateful that he wouldn’t need to worry for Tommy at the moment.

What he did need to worry about, however, was how the _hell_ he would be able to get to Tubbo before Connor and the rest of them would find him.

He wasn’t sure how Connor had gotten himself wrapped up in this whole resurrection business; hell, he wasn’t sure _why._ They left each other with venom in their voices and hatred in their blood, the once amiable rapport they had with each other soured and torn apart by the pressure of a failing business, depleting funds and Schlatt’s beginning alcohol problem. Connor had no reason to be by his side as Schlatt coughed the plague from his dry lungs and throat, or to show him kindness and talk to him excitedly, like he was _happy_ to see Schlatt. It simply made no sense to Schlatt, and as much as he wanted to dissect Connor’s reasons, the ram-hybrid didn’t have the luxury of time when Sam told him and Wilbur that they had to wait before they could see the people they were desperate to check on. 

He felt bad when he kicked away the piece of dirt that was holding back a small pocket of water that had collected, as it splashed all over Connor and caused him to fall down. That certainly wasn’t a good first interaction with his old business partner, but a small part of him felt smug about it. He pushed that feeling away. Their feud was before. Schlatt could make good with Connor in this life; just as soon as he accomplished a few of his goals first. 

He also grew concerned for a second when the bi-colored hybrid had screamed at the sight of water. A drop had touched his face before he jumped to safety, and Schlatt winced when he heard the sharp sizzle of what sounded like hot oil making contact with skin. He then put together the pieces that the lanky and tall teen must be half-Enderman. Past Schlatt would’ve been gloating at accidentally exploiting the convenient weakness of the hybrid, as it gave both him and Wilbur more time to get away. But that version of Schlatt didn’t have a moral code, didn’t have access to the empathy current Schlatt had. Sure, he was still a little grateful that it was a good enough distraction, but he made a mental note to apologize to the hybrid: both for being rude when he had asked a just question, and for sending the one thing that could really harm him pouring down on him. 

Now that he really thought about it, that could’ve been the ‘Ranboo’ Tubbo talked about sometimes. Schlatt himself had never been around when Tubbo was with Ranboo, but he knew he at least _existed_ because of how much Tubbo would talk about him to Jack. It was just as much as he would talk about Tommy, though Schlatt usually would tune out once Tubbo had begun to get repetitive with either individual. Besides, Schlatt liked the other things Tubbo would talk about, like bees, or a baby zombie-piglin he would tote around SnowChester named Michael, or nuclear physics.

… Maybe not nuclear physics, but Tubbo sure sounded educated when he rambled on about it.

He sighed and stood on the stairs of the White House, running his hands down his face before looking around. Not much around this area had changed, and for a moment Schlatt could almost imagine hearing the shrieking laughter of Quackity or the gentle humming of Fundy, though he knew it was all in his head. He gazed reminiscently at the building’s exterior, its once prideful and empowering presence was now replaced with a sad and broken atmosphere. This place, once his home, looked like it hadn’t been touched in months, vines growing along the sides of the building and weeds having sprouted in the previously taken-care-of flower beds. The marble that made up the entire building, which was once sparkling white, had become a dirtied and cracking grayish color from neglect. There was also graffiti all over, from ‘FUCK MANBERG’ to ‘ALL HAIL THE EGGPIRE’ to various arts of some guy in clout goggles in varying degrees of ridiculousness. The windows that had always been spotlessly clear had become dusty and fogged, unable to look into the dark rooms they were attached to, which were probably full of cobwebs and rotting with mold or bugs. It probably still smelled faintly of whiskey and cigar smoke, because no matter how many air fresheners his cabinet put in, there was no getting rid of the smell of either. He wondered if his secret stash of booze was still inside beneath the kitchen’s floorboards, but he pushed that away as quickly as it had come. 

_‘No more booze,’_ He promised himself in his mind. He shivered at the memory of his post-death detox, a rather convincing reason not to pursue any kind of temptation in this new life he was gifted. 

He was here to amend, not fall back into old habits. 

“Hello!”

Schlatt jumped, which was not a great impulse as he lost balance and fell backwards, letting out a short string of curses before hitting the ground with a _thump._ He was lucky that he was only on the first set of stairs and that everyone had let the path leading to the White House become overgrown, as the grass he landed in cushioned the brunt impact of his fall. Still, it was not pleasant and Schlatt groaned in displeasure.

“Oh no! Are you okay dude?!” A... man (?) appeared above Schlatt, looking down at him. The man was a shiny gold color, with literal green orbs that looked to be eyes and had a somewhat big nose, almost like a villager’s but slightly less obnoxious. He had on a hat depicting a shark’s mouth, which brought Schlatt to his next observation: the man didn’t have a mouth. How he was talking, Schlatt wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have eyebrows either, but his face still creased like a regular face would with concern as he held out a hand to help Schlatt up. 

Schlatt hesitated before taking the hand, swallowing his pride as he was helped to his feet. Once upright again, he got a better look at the very odd being. He had gloves that matched the shark hat, but that wasn’t the thing that caught Schlatt’s attention. This guy wore rather warm clothing considering the weather, which was pretty breezy but not _cold_ like how he was dressed for. The fur-lined vest he had on was over a brown and beige flannel, with fur boots and brown snow-pants to top off the snug look. The outfit looked so similar to Tubbo’s, and it only took Schlatt a minute or so to piece together the clues that this being must be a resident of SnowChester. 

A GPS had just landed at Schlatt’s feet. Or rather, he fell at its boots.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. What were you doing, though? This building isn’t nearly as interesting as some of the others here!” The golden man questioned, and Schlatt could hear the grin in his voice. It still made Schlatt uneasy that this being had no mouth and was still somehow speaking, but he tried to shake away the feeling as he formulated a quick plan in his mind.

“I dunno, I was just, uh… Sight-seeing?” Schlatt hated how he sounded unsure, but it obviously didn’t make the being before him confused, because he continued on with the same chipper tone. 

“Oh, are you a visitor? I was gonna say, I’ve never seen you around before,” He extended a hand, inviting Schlatt to shake. “I’m Foolish G., but I just go by Foolish.”

Schlatt took his hand and shook it firmly, the action instinctive from his time as a businessman. Quickly, he chose a name to lie with, not all convinced that this obviously newer resident hadn’t at least heard a thing or two about Schlatt. And luckily, lying was also a great skill he had mastered from being a businessman.

“My name is Jebediah.”

“Welcome to the DreamSMP, Jeb!” Foolish replied, releasing Schlatt’s hand and gesturing around. He looked to Schlatt again. “Can I call you Jeb?”

“I could really care less, bud,” Schlatt shrugged before conjuring an uninterested look on his face, pretty much lying through his teeth. “Listen, this place is pretty cool and all, but I’m honestly kinda disappointed.”

The golden man’s face fell. “Really?”

“Yeah, I was kinda expecting more, uhm, I dunno… _variety._ ”

“Variety?”

“Yeah, more so in areas I suppose. I’ve heard the history of this place, and other than that giant fucking crater it’s pretty standard. No real difference in weather or biome, and everything is so packed together that I can't tell where one provenance starts and where one ends.”

Schlatt purposely chose the buzz words that he hoped would give him the response he needed. He would look pretty weird to ask where a specific town that was pretty secluded from the rest of the SMP was. He doubted anyone out of the SMP even _knew_ about SnowChester, more focused on the nations at war like it was Saturday morning cartoons. He had to be subtle. 

“Oh, do you live in a particular biome back home?”

**Goddamn it.**

“Uh, yeah. I’m half-ram, so I’ve lived in the mountains where it snows a lot. Pretty cold there, so I was hoping there would be a place that could, um, remind me of home, since I’ve been away for so long,” Schlatt fibbed, trying to steer the conversation where he needed it to go.

“I was wondering why your hands were so cold! Is that why you look so odd? Wait, no, that came out wrong, I-”

Schlatt was starting to lose hope that this guy could be of any help to him.

“- your horns are super cool, not weird!” Foolish finished fixing his accidental insult.

“It’s fine, I get it a lot,” Schlatt sighed.

“Well you shouldn’t! Honestly you look pretty intimidating, so I don’t know why anyone would-.”

“Hey, let’s get back on topic! No need to talk about me anymore, please,” Schlatt interrupted, keeping his voice level-toned even as he was growing annoyed. 

“Oh, sorry, Jeb,” Foolish chuckled awkwardly. Then, Schlatt could almost see the lightbulb go off in Foolish’s head, green orbs (he knew they were eyes, but resembled gemstones too closely for him to call them ‘eyes’) somehow widening and Schlatt knew if he had a mouth, the golden man would be grinning. 

“Hey, have you ever heard of SnowChester?”

Schlatt grinned inwardly.

“No, actually, I haven’t. What is it?”

Whatever happened when he reached the town, Schlatt wasn’t worried about. However, the thought of seeing Tubbo for the first time since being an invisible ghost, now unable to hide behind the veil of anonymity and armed with the knowledge and things he’s seen, he was surprised when it wasn’t excitement or delight like how he had expressed to Wilbur privately in the Afterlife.

Instead, his stomach churned with uncertainty that this was the right thing to do for either of them. 

**~~//////~~ **

Sam was beginning to regret this as he combed the area around the L’Manberg crater, checking every building and cranny that Schlatt could be hiding in. 

The group had split into pairs, Sam and Connor together to search for Schlatt while Ranboo and Puffy went to look for Wilbur. He didn’t like the idea of the enderman-hybrid being near either of the revived men, but it was better for it to be Wilbur than Schlatt, and he was at least with Puffy. Connor was a good asset for helping getting Schlatt to listen, but was pretty weak when it came to fighting. And if it came down to it, Sam was better off with the collector than with Ranboo or Puffy, who could at least fight decently. 

He really hoped that whatever either of them wanted from Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy, it wasn’t harmful. He wanted to believe for, at least Wilbur, their intentions were good. It’s also why Sam was looking for Schlatt and not Wilbur: he didn’t trust that ram to be around anyone, _especially_ Tubbo, for five seconds. 

Sam at least took solace that the ram-hybrid didn’t know that SnowChester existed, or that’s where Tubbo lived. It was only a matter of time before he and Connor found him aimlessly wandering around and wrangled him back to Sam’s house, which is where they all planned to keep them until they were sure they weren’t threats. 

After all, everyone on the server had pretty much been involved in the Manberg vs. PogTopia war, so even if Schlatt was _foolish_ enough to walk up to someone to ask for directions, he’d probably be met with a sword, screaming, or both.

**Right?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have made a spotify playlist for this book. its official. this is my life now. writing for this hellhole. /j
> 
> expect every chapter to range anywhere from 4000 to 10000 words, if it dips below or above that; worry about my sanity. /hj
> 
> anyways, here's a discord server i run, there's a bunch of small streamers there you should definitely take a look at! we also have made our own SMP and there is a story being developed :3. I personally cannot stream, but I do play a character in it and record my footage instead! however there are a bunch of streamers who do stream it, so you should definitely take a look at their channels if you get the chance!! join if you're interested and see y'all in the next chapter!
> 
> discord link: https://discord.gg/dWyzFNggVg

**Author's Note:**

> If any CCs are uncomfortable with this fic, it will be removed!! I don't make the rules and I respect boundaries!
> 
> this entire story is inspired by one tiktok by snapp_art_ , which is why the first 5 chapters are titled after the chorus of 'Feeling Good' by Michael Bublé. The video link is in the bottom notes of the first chapter and please check her out, she's a wonderfully talented artist!!! Her twitter is also Snapp_art!!


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